The Past Does Not Become Us
by timenspace
Summary: Of course she hadn't heard of Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective.  Because he didn't exist yet. Pre-canon Sherlock.


**Title: **The Past Does Not Become Us  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Sherlock, BBC  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Sherlock (between 20 and 24), Henry  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Someone had to inspire Sherlock to open his eyes - when he thought all he had were narcotics. Follows a canon that states Sherlock was bullied throughout boarding school, his parents shuffled him off, and somewhere he has to find inspiration. Non-beta'd for now. Might continue if I am on the right track (in other words if I get reviews to that effect). For all I care, he's hallucinating. I didn't originally want to portray her as female due to the fact alot of "loss fics" have a dead girlfriend involved. Nor should a male status be biasing you whatsover, though it shouldn't because you should watch his responses in "Study in Pink" Girlfriend? Not really my area. Boyfriend? No response at first then John says "It's fine." Sherlock gives him a pointed look. "I know it's fine." Lots of things you could read into that. I have played with both ideas, neither of which are satisfactory. I went with the female because of the sympathy bit. So we'll see. On with the story, please, please, please, PLEASE review. Even if it's rubbish I must be told so.

Mycroft might have known alot of things.

He was unaware, or perhaps chose not to notice Sherlock's interest in the pharmacy tech.

Henry was smart, knew several things that were irrelevant to her employment. They'd met at the least likely of places.

Of course she'd been off work and was just headed home.

She heard crying in the alley. She at first thought it was a puppy, but as she approached closer, it was distanctly human sobbing.

She frowned studying the angular profile. The young man, about her own age. Curly dark hair.

He had his face in his hands, and those hands were trembling.

She wasn't a tech for nothing. The trembling had nothing to do with the crying - well, perhaps it did somewhat but it seemed more to be a symptom of something else rather than...

He'd seen her. In the streetlight, she couldn't make out his eye color but they looked dark - making his pale features look whiter under the yellow lamp. The tear streaks on his face. The bloodshot eyes.

"W-what d-do y-you - got a c-cigarette?"

She pulled one out of her purse, though she rarely smoked anymore. The talk of the law passage had made her back off on the nicotine.

He lit it - _the man had a lighter but no cigarrette?_ and took a drag.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" The curse didn't roll off his tongue. He must be under the influence of something. Rarely cursed anywhere.

From a posh family, likely.

"Sorry, you- you look like you needed help."

He took another drag, blowing the smoke in her direction with a dismissive attitude that resembled someone younger than his years. "Don't need anyone."

"But you need something right?" Her eyes narrowed. He looked the type to be an easy pickpocket. Tall, yes - his long legs told that story, but his hands were slender - likely quick. Easily fit into pockets without notice.

He flicked the butt of the cig toward a stray piece of paper, likely a cheeseburger wrapper. He watched it burn with interest, then rubbed it out when the paper began to become ashes.

"You mean food, right? Not hungry."

"Interesting. But you're clearly out of money because you would have bought cigarettes at the corner. Likely an addict trying to cover up then. Posh one, too - judging by that coat of yours."

He stiffened at her guesses, but there was a glint in his eye. "You're the tech from downtown. You can get me what I want."

_Shit._ He'd noticed her lab coat underneath.

"You're more observant than most."

"Is that all your going to say?"

"There's nothing else to say."

"You're not going to say _Freak_ and walk away?"

"Why would I do that? Intelligence isn't freakish. Rare, yes - but not abnormal. Stupidity is abnormal."

He grinned. "You're the first hallucination that's complimented like that."

"Must not be a hallucination then, they're typically caused by memories of fear or pain. Sometimes both."

"You should have had a psych degree."

She shook her head - yes, she'd gone to college for that, but it was the medicine that interested her more than the science of diagnosis.  
>"Too much subjectiveness. Not really science."<p>

He seemed interested. "Tell me."

She could tell he was still feeling the aftereffects of coming down off the high. Now she was questioning herself weather she should call the police or the shelter.

"It's because diagnosis is based on how the patient answers, which was more likely to be subjective than accurate. In simple terms, if a patient thought they were going mad, the line of questioning was likely to indicate they were paranoid. Or if they felt persecuted, same thing.

Traumatic injuries are more likely to result in psychosamatic. That means the patient feels -"

"I know what it means."

She liked that. Most people needed that explained.

"Do you _want_ help?" was her next question.

"I don't _need_ help."

"No. You're thinking you're going to need another fix within the next couple of hours. Why are you destroying your brain cells like that? You clearly know more than the average. Once you lose them, you never get them back."

He stared at her. There was a haunted look, that he was trying to cover up. Purposely slowing his breathing, saw she noticed and wouldn't meet her eyes. And when he didn't answer.  
>She could tell he'd been taunted - perhaps not recently but such comments left permanent emotional scars that the strongest detox wouldn't treat.<p>

He didn't need that. He needed a _friend._

He was simply a lost young man from a wealthy family, trying to find some purpose. Fighting to conquer the demons that rampaged through his own life.

She knew bullying could leave permanent scars - even if they never touched you.

_You're not going to call me Freak?_  
>Once you attatched names to it, meant that you'd accepted it. It was when you let them win, because the pain was just too much.<p>

"I have to know your name if you want another cigarette."

"Yours first."  
>His name had been a subject of the taunting then.<br>"And stop deducing me."

So he was another "one of them". Like herself that was cursed with observing and nothing else.

"Henry. Burton." She stuck out her hand, thinking she would be making another diagnosis if he didn't take it.

"Sherlock Holmes." His hands were clammy and sweaty, yes - but the handshake was firm.

Human contact wasn't minded.  
>Now that explained alot. The wealthy family, the obvious boarding schools, the absent parents, the ambitious brother.<p>

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

"What."

"You are figuring me out aren't you?" He looked frightened more than annoyed. An easy mask for his sensitivity.

"I suppose. It's what scares the normal people. I've learned to hide it."

"Can I?" He wanted to be hopeful.

"Of course. The worse thing about it though -"

"It's the buzzing. It's constant." The interrupting, clearly the beginning stages of hiding his feelings toward anyone. Even if he did confide in them.

"Information overload?"

"Yeah. Some of it is irrelevant."

"So that's why you take the drugs."

"What?" He didn't understand. Or maybe didn't want to at first.

"It quiets the noise. It's why I smoke. Trying to cut back because of the new law they want -"

"That was Mycroft's idea."

She didn't ask. Relative or someone who claimed to be a friend.

"You don't know Mycroft? Oh, he would pop a button if he knew."

"Why?"

"Because he's a fat, sorry sod that only thinks of politics." The insult. There was a rift between them, likely resentment that would only get worse over time.

The ambitious brother deduction had been correct then. She couldn't hide the smirk.

"What's funny?"

"Just the situation. You're from a wealthy family that likely - well, you're not really _considered._ Neither abused nor accepted. Just there. It's ambitious brother's future they really care about."  
>She was careful in her wording. Quoting how others thought would wound him.<p>

"Yeah, _buggar off_ Sherlock, it's Mycroft that's _important._"

"Have they said that?" If they had, she would have been furious.

"No. It's implied."

"That's a rather horrible thing to imply."

"But I don't like politics. They're _boring._ It's the same shite everyday. Raise tax on this, lower tax on that. Create employment here, eliminate it there."

"What do you like then?"

"Science." The answer was confident.

"What sort?"

"Experimental, chemistry, anatomy, biology."

"Physics?"

"Somewhat. Not really into the whole "time travel" thing though. Too weird."

Of course Henry liked time travel but didn't say it.  
>"That's fantastic."<p>

"Fantastic? Most people say it's Freaky or Weird."

"No. It's just different. There is nothing wrong with being different, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock. SHER - LOCK."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

"It's not Shercock or Bones, Sure to Lock, or _'_s Her_ lock _or whatever. SHER. LOCK." He was rambling, likely the drug in his system. Nobody knew these horrid little secrets but they rolled out of his mouth in more rapid order than he thought them.

_Poor boy. Poor little boy. Parents not aware, or just didn't have the time. _ "Sherlock, then."

The musical way it rolled off her tongue was when he was quite sure he'd heard an angel.

Of course she hadn't heard of Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective.  
>Because he didn't exist yet.<p>

A/N: And it's said angels are neither male nor female so hah!


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